The world will tell you you’re crazy,
because you listen for owls,
La Llorona and lowriders,
because you yell “Burn Him”
under fireworks, “Bravo” for Don Pasquale,
and hiss at the Melodrama.
They won’t know why you need
to dance by bandstands, or soak in cinema
under stars, margaritas on balconies,
why you crave faralitos, Las Posadas,
and piñon when it’s cold, when footsteps snap
through your turquoise fatigues.
They won’t understand, when all night long,
you lie between the still and the turning above,
just to take in the black and the light,
that quiet cold filled with the hunt.
They won’t get why you need
to feel stars press into your skin, and
the Milky Way flush through your veins,
why your lovers are Orion and Venus,
who soak their light on you
until they shine through.
They’ll think you’re crazy when you tell them
your wheel is slowing, and
that your soul is tethered to the rocks,
because you know you love the mountains
even more when they’re hidden,
and that a living heart will always be broken.
You’re the one who’s woken up
by raven wings and the sun’s rising song,
they who pull you in closer,
they who called you to a life you knew was here
when you had no reason to, no reason at all.
A woman doesn’t come
to her last third lightly
but after knives and nights
have taken their bites
with guttural noises
and doubting voices
after she’s been to the waterfall
on fetal knees
where the light of death
makes clear the cost of caring
and her soul, scarred-strong,
imperfect and naked,
goes where it must.
would I say that I love this burnt orange horizon more than I do you
would I say those things no page can contain
would I say I regretted it all
would I open my heart like a book of psalms waiting to be heard
would I lie with the moon, wind at my back
and just for once, sing my wild song
O’Keefe’s Jimson Weed
2014 Accolades: I am happy to announce that I took First Place and Honorable Mention for 2 of my poems.
O’Keefe Gerald’s Tree
Horses Dot the Land
Dark Trees 2
Dark Trees 1
New Mexico Beauty